The REAL Cause for the Breaking of the Fellowship
by Hanyou Lothuial
Summary: The REAL story behind the breaking of the Fellowship at Amon Hen. Heh heh, who let that silly WESTRON MAN into the Fellowship anyway? ^^;; You've been warned. Please R


The Real Reason the Fellowship Broke:  
What REALLY Happened at Amon Hen  
The day was clear and cold. The sun shone brightly in the February sky, and dew still clung to the leaves and grasses on the shores of the Anduin. Small puffs of gray clouds dotted the sky, though there was no outward sign of rain. The Great River reflected the sun's rays, sparkling like a river of liquid sapphire. No creature save the occassional bird or squirrel could be seen.  
  
The Fellowship had pulled their Elven boats to shore for the day. They had paddled all night, and only the hobbits had gotten any sleep. The Company now sat around a small fire, warming themselves and watching Sam cook breakfast. Merry, Pippin and Gimli were off to one side, talking amongst themselves, and Legolas was prancing about in the sunshine, flitting in and out of the trees, his long, bleached blonde hair flowing behind him. Frodo sat watching Sam, a sad, solemn look on his face. Aragorn lay under a tree close to the fire, asleep. He had stayed awake and alert all night and had managed to send a hissing, slimy, and rather ugly looking creature floating on a log over Rauros falls. Nasty little bugger. Aragorn had suspected that Gollum had been following them, and that really pissed him off.  
  
All of the Fellowship seemed to be content in their little camp. That is, all save Boromir. He was sitting on a tree stump not to far away, his chin in his hands, watching the Company as they went about their doings. When he had volunteered to join this Fellowship-thing, he was planning on bringing the Ring to Minas Tirith, meeting some hot Elven babes, and maybe even tanning on the shores of the Anduin. But here they were in the middle of February, crowded around a little fire and talking about going to Mordor. Mordor! Of all the places in Middle-Earth, they had to go to Mordor. But Boromir's heart was set on bringing the Ring to Minas Tirith. And he was hoping to get there as soon as possible. Now he was bored. As he sat staring at the others, an idea crossed his mind. A wicked grin spread across his face and he chuckled to himself. As long as they were docked on shore for the day, he would have some fun.  
  
First he went to find Legolas. He didn't have to go very far. He hid behind a tree as he watched Legolas, who was still prancing about in the sunshine with his face turned up to the sky. He was singing something...Boromir couldn't quite pick out the words, but it sounded as though it was in Elvish. Boromir shrugged and scanned the area around him. His eyes came to rest on Legolas's pack, which was left carelessly against the tree he was hiding behind. With a chuckle he reached out and dragged the pack away and behind the tree.  
  
He crouched down and quietly opened Legolas pack. He dug through the bag with his dirty hands, searching for anything good. He pulled out a dozen arrows, spare bowstrings, a few packages of lembas, various combs, brushes, and hair scrunchies, and what looked like a small leather-bound book with Elven runes on the front. Boromir opened the book and found that he had stumbled upon Legolas's diary. He flipped through it until he came to the last entry:  
  
Ninui 14,  
  
Today was another uneventful day. I woke up, washed my hair, and ate breakfast with Galadriel and Celeborn. Such lovely folk, I hope to meet them again. Then I washed my hair and went to visit the hobbits, who were sprawled out and still sleeping among the tree roots. Such lovely little folk. Upon my return I washed my hair and ran into that fool Boromir. I must say, he's a poor choice for a Fellowship member. He's so foolish, with his talk of bringing the Ring to Gondor. Screw Gondor! The Ring must be destroyed, or the darkness will spread throughout all of Middle-Earth! Does that idiot see it? I suppose not. At times I wish it was him that had fallen of the Bridge of Khazad-dum instead of beloved Mithrandir. Mithrandir! How I miss him. Perhaps I could have talked him into blowing Boromir up. After all, we are tight friends. We were tight friends... But back to my day. I spent the day talking with Aragorn in the halls of the Lorien Elves. I washed my hair and took dinner and council with Aragorn, Celeborn, and Galadriel. Then I washed my hair and went to bed.  
  
Boromir was outraged. Him a fool? How could a pansy Elf think such things of the son of the Steward of Gondor? Boromir angrily tossed Legolas's diary onto the pile he had made with his other things and shoved his grimy hands back in Legolas's pack.   
  
At the bottom of the pack Boromir found two bottles. He pulled them out and examined them. One was marked "Herbal Essence Revitalizing Shampoo" and the other "Herbal Essence Smoothing Conditioner." Boromir grinned and laughed in his throat. This would teach Legolas not to mouth off about the son of the Steward of Gondor. He quickly stuffed the rest of Legolas's things back into the pack and pushed it back to the other side of the tree. Still holding the two Herbal Essence bottles he crept away to the edge of the Great River and proceeded to dump the contents of the bottles into the water. He watched the soapy bubbles float away in the current, then ran back to the campsite and tossed the empty bottles next to his bag. Feeling very pleased with himself, he sat down on his tree stump again by the fire and watched for an opportunity to make his next move.   
  
"Mr. Frodo, will you test this for me?" Sam dipped his ladel in the steaming pot of vegetable soup and held it out to Frodo.  
  
"Sam..." Frodo started, looking at his young friend. He was about to say he didn't feel very hungry, but the smile on Sam's face melted Frodo's heart. He looked so innocent, quietly cooking a meal in the midst of a journey from peril into peril. Frodo felt terrible for bringing Sam along and making him suffer so terribly. The least he could do was be there for him when he needed it and do what he asked. At least that would make him happy and not feel so alone. Frodo forced a smile onto his face and guided Sam's ladel to his mouth.  
  
"It's delicious Sam," Frodo said after he had chewed and swallowed. "I'm sure the others will love this."  
  
Sam watched as Frodo licked the little bit of soup still clinging to his lips and sighed. Suddenly he started and his eyes glazed over as a few ideas struck him. He began to smile, then realized what he had been thinking. He shook his head to rid his mind of the impure thoughts that had overcome him, and he stared at the ground, embarassed.   
  
"Something wrong, Sam?" Frodo said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. Frodo had seen the troubled look on Sam's face and had crawled nearer to him. Sam's face grew red as an apple at his master's touch. Frodo leaned down to look Sam in the eye. "Are you alright? You seem troubled."  
  
"Well, a bit, Mr. Frodo," Sam stammered, trying hard not to look into Frodo's eyes. He couldn't resist. They were beautiful, a clear shade of blue that rivaled the eyes of the Elves themselves. Sam swallowed hard and managed to mumble, "I'm all hot and bothered, and a tad uncomfortable."  
  
Frodo said back and took his hand off the young hobbit's shoulder. For a moment a look of disgust and shock passed over his face, but then he chuckled and a smile broke his solemn mood. He leaned in closer, and Sam could feel Frodo's breath on his ear.   
  
"Thinking about Rosie again, eh?" he chuckled.  
  
"Yes, yes, I'm thinking about Rosie again. Yes, that's it. Rosie." Sam forced out a laugh to conceal his relief and slight disappointment. Frodo couldn't tell? He was infatuated with him, and he wanted a bond with Frodo that was more than just a master and servant, more then just humble friends.  
  
Boromir watched the scene between the two hobbits, and decided to make them his newest victims. He stood up and walked over to fire where they still sat. He glanced around quickly to make sure that none of the others were within earshot. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw that Gimli was still in deep conversation with Pippin and Merry. The three had now gravitated towards the bank of the Anduin, and the hobbits were soaking their feet in the water.  
  
Boromir sat down next to Sam. "Hello there Samwise. Master Frodo." He nodded to each of them in greeting. He smiled to himself at how well he concealed his mischeif.  
  
"Hullo Boromir," Frodo said, stroking the Ring around its chain. Boromir sat silent for a minute, staring at the Ring, then tore his gaze from it to look at Samwise. "What is this you have made?" he asked, motioning to the pot on the fire.  
  
"Vegetable soup," Sam answered. "It's not much, but it'll make a sufficient lunch. But save some for Aragorn. I reckon when he wakes up he'll be mighty hungry. Sam's eyes wandered back to Frodo as he spoke. Frodo had now gotten up and left the campsite, saying he was going to find Legolas.  
  
Boromir's chance had come. "You know," said Boromir, slinking close to Sam. "I've seen the way you look at him."  
  
"You....have?" Sam gulped, nearly dropping his ladel into the flames.  
  
"Who hasn't?" Boromir laughed. "You seem to be...how should I put this....'in love' with our Ring-bearer." He picked up the ladel and fished some soup out of the pot, which he prompty devoured, slurping loudly.  
  
"I wouldn't say 'in love,' Mr. Boromir..." Sam said quietly.  
  
"Then what would you say?"  
  
"Maybe 'infatuated,'" the hobbit replied uneasily.  
  
"Whatever," Boromir said, tossing the ladel back into the pot with a splash. "Either way, you should tell him how you feel."  
  
"But how?" The young hobbit looked up at the man, his eyes shining in the afternoon sun. Time had passed since they had dragged the boats onto the shore, and the morning had waned into afternoon.  
  
"The only way to get someone right away is to come on strong." Boromir grinned, ignoring the fact that every time he had come on strong to an Elven woman, he had been promptly hit with the nearest heavy object or slapped. The worst had to be that Lady Galadriel from Lothlorien. He had tried talking to her, but no, she was married! So he cried. He had kept himself hidden from the rest of the Fellowship for a while after that, because, to put it plainly, manly men don't cry. But that would lead the Company to the conclusion that Boromir was not a manly man...  
  
"Come on strong?" Sam repeated, flabbergasted. "But won't that scare him away?"   
  
"You never know until you try," Boromir said with a laugh. Suddenly he stopped laughing, and another idea struck him. He smiled wickedly at Sam. "I dare you..."  
  
"Dare?" Sam's eyes opened wide. No one could say no to a dare. It was simply the rule. Whatever Boromir was about to say, he had to do it. If he had told him to jump into Anduin buck-naked, he'd have to. But whatever he was going to say, Sam had an idea that it had to be something to do with Frodo...  
  
"I dare you..." Boromir repeated, then said so low that Sam could hardly to, "...to make out with Frodo."  
  
"MAKE OUT?!" Sam jumped up, nearly upsetting the pot of soup. "Make out?" he said again in a quieter tone. "But Mr. Frodo is..."  
  
"Mr. Frodo can be an orc in disguse for all I care," Boromir said. A look of digust settled on Sam's face. "But he's not, mind you," Boromir added. "So do it! But here's a tip: break the ice with a few slick comments."  
  
"Like what?" Sam asked.  
  
"Like, 'You create fire behind my eyes,' or, 'You are one sexy little thang!'" Boromir smiled. "I know this kind of things."  
  
"Um...Mr. Boromir, what's a 'thang?'" Sam said timidly.  
  
Boromir sighed. "It doesn't matter. Just say it! Look, here he comes. Now's your chance!" As Frodo approached the campsite from among the trees, Boromir scrambled away from the fire and into the shadows between the trees. There he sat back and watched the scene he started unfurl before him.  
  
"Hey, Mr. Frodo. Where's Legolas?" Sam's voice cracked when he said his master's name.  
  
"He's too busy prancing among the trees. I try talking to him but he won't answer. It's like he's in his own little world over there. He was singing, too. Something about sunshine and light and his hair..." Frodo shrugged and began ladeling himself some soup into a pewter bowl.  
  
"Say, Mr. Frodo..." Sam was shaking as he sidled closer to Frodo until their shoulders were touching. "You create fire behind my eyes."  
  
Frodo looked at Sam sideways. "Sam..." he asked slowly. "Are you high again?"  
  
"I...uh..." Sam stammered.  
  
"How many times must I tell you, dear Sam, you smoke pipeweed, not sniff it." He brought a spoonful of soup to his mouth and closed his lips around it.  
  
A shiver ran down Sam's spine as he watched Frodo's mouth engulf the soup. "You.....you're....." His voice came out in small spasms for a minute, until he summoned up all his courage and took a deep breath. "YOU ARE ONE SEXY LITTLE THANG!" he blurted out.  
  
Frodo's head snapped up and he dropped his bowl and spoon, spilling soup all over the ground. He stared at Sam, his left eye twitching, the rest of his body frozen with shock and horror at what Sam had just said. "S-Sam?" Frodo said quietly. Then his voice rose and began to sound labored, as if he himself didn't believe the words he was saying. "Are you...HITTING on me?"   
  
Tears sprang into Sam's eyes when he saw how his master was looking at him. His heart was wrung with pain. He never meant to frighten Mr. Frodo. He only wanted to express to him in the best way how he felt about him. "I think....I think I love you Mr. Frodo!" cried Sam, and he flung himself at Frodo with a cry and crashed his lips into Frodo's.  
  
Boromir slapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. This was better than he had thought!  
  
Frodo let out a muffled cry and flailed his arms wildly about. Sam had Frodo in a tight hug, and Frodo's face was beginning to turn blue from lack of air. Finally Frodo managed to push Sam off of him and struggle to his feet. "You....you....." Frodo searched for something to say, but nothing he could say would sound right in this situation. He only managed to whimper out a soft cry of "Sam...." before he turned and dashed into the woods around the camp.  
  
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam cried, springing to his feet and staring after his master. Tears spilled down his bright-red face as he sobbed and sniffed. He spotted Boromir hiding in the shadows, laughing, and his face hardened. His eyes narrowed almost to slits. "This is all your fault!" he shouted before taking off at full speed after Frodo.  
  
Boromir silently watched Sam until he was out of sight, then fell out of the shadows, doubled over with laughed. If he died right now, that would be the funniest damn thing he ever saw! A male hobbit hitting on another male hobbit. It was priceless!  
  
After many minutes of laughter, Boromir dragged himself to his feet, holding his aching sides, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. He took a few deep breaths, pulled himself together, and went back to the campfire, where he spooned himself a bowl of soup and ate happily. He looked over at Aragorn. Their fearless leader was still sleeping. Boromir laughed. He would have made a better leader that Aragorn, son of Arathorn, son of... whatever. So what if he was the heir to the throne of Gondor? So what if he was Isildur's heir? Boromir thought himself much more capable at effectively beating the armies of the Dark Lord... and getting girls. But then again, Aragorn had that Arwen chic back in Rivendell.... Boromir shrugged the thought off and looked over towards Gimli, Merry, and Pippin. They were still in deep conversation by the banks of the Anduin, and Boromir was close enough to hear what they were saying.  
  
"You mean there was ANOTHER Dark Lord before Sauron?" Merry asked, his eyes wide with wonder.  
  
"Indeed," Gimli nodded. "He was known as Melkor among the Valar, and Morgoth Bauglir among the people of Arda. He stole the Silmarils of Old that Feanor wrought from the loveliest gems and the light of the two Trees of Valinor, Laurelin and Telperion. He wore them as crown jewels in his evil stronghold of Angband." The Dwarf looked East across the Anduin towards Mordor, where black clouds were beginning to rise.  
  
"I never thought of such things..." Pippin said quietly. "How do you know all this, Gimli, sir?" the young hobbit inquired.  
  
"Who doesn't know the tale?" Gimli answered. "It is part of Arda's history. We must not forget it." He was silent for a long moment.  
  
"Were the Silmarils ever recovered?" Merry asked.  
  
"One was. Beren the One-handed, son of Men, and Luthien Tinuviel, Elven daughter of King Thingol and Queen Melian in Beleriand, sojourned to Angband and recovered one of the Silmarils...one of those fateful jewels... from the crown of Morgoth." Merry and Pippin gasped.   
  
"They faced the first Dark Lord by themselves?" Pippin asked, breathless in wonder.   
  
"They had help," Gimli said with a small laugh. "Two people alone cannot defeat a Dark Lord, no matter how powerful they are themselves." He continued to explain the perils faced and those that joined Luthien and Beren on their journey to Morgoth's lair.  
  
All the while, Boromir listened, and when he had finished his soup, he set down his bowl and spoon and made his way cafefully and quietly over to the three. He stood a little ways behind them, waiting for an opportunity or an idea to make a move and do something. Boredom hit him again as he stood there, and he began to figit with the Horn of Gondor at his side. He yawned, and his eyelids began to grow a bit heavy as the Dwarf's talk shifted to that of their adventure in Moria.  
  
"I was a bit taken back when Aragorn tried to pick me up. Like I said, nobody tosses a Dwarf. And if he must be tossed, he will do it himself." He cleared his throat and coughed as Merry and Pippin giggled.  
  
Boromir took this as his signal.  
  
He came up behind Gimli and, being a quite strong Westron man, picked the Dwarf up and held him above his head. "Who wants to play 'Toss the Dwarf?'" he enthusiastically asked a startled Merry and Pippin.  
  
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Gimli..." Merry said cautiously.  
  
"Me! Me!" Pippin said, jumping to his feet.   
  
"Pip!" Merry scolded his young cousin.  
  
"Sorry..." Pippin said dejectedly, and turned to Boromir. "I think you should put Gimli down, Boromir."  
  
"Fool of a Took..." Merry muttered under his breath.  
  
"I heard that!" Pippin whined.  
  
Boromir just laughed. "Catch!" Boromir ran a few feet backwards and hurtled Gimli at Pippin.  
  
"OI! OI!" Pippin cried before he was crushed under the Dwarf's weight. "Get him off! Get him off!" he squealed.  
  
Gimli lay on top of Pippin, dazed and dizzy. "BOROMIR!" he shouted, reaching out a shaking hand for his double-bladed ax.  
  
"Whoa there! Lighten up you old Petty-Dwarf, and have some fun!" And with that Boromir tossed Gimli again, this time in Merry's direction.  
  
Merry was still standing at the edge of the River. He quickly ran aside, and Gimli went sailing over the bank and into the water not to far away. The Dwarf thrashed about, spluttering and coughing.  
  
"Aragorn! Aragorn!" Merry yelled, running to the sleeping Aragorn and shaking him violently. He woke with a start, and sprang to his feet, his hand on the hilt of his sword.  
  
"What's the trouble, Master Brandybuck?" Aragorn asked, his eyes searching the campsite for any sign of danger.   
  
"It's Gimli! Boromir's gone and thrown him into the River!" Merry cried, dragging Aragorn to the bank.  
  
"Boromir WHAT?" Aragorn yelled, tossing off his metal gear into a pile as he reached the bank. He plunged into the water, and a few moments later dragged himself and Gimli, both dripping wet, onto the bank.  
  
Gimli lay in the dirt, coughing and spitting out water like a fountain. He glared up at Boromir, who was standing a few feet away, grinning innocently. "Azan ai-menu bund! Menu gabil sharku!" the Dwarf cursed, reaching for his ax.  
  
Boromir stared at the ax for a moment. "I'm going to go find Frodo and Sam," he said quickly with a grin, then dashed off into the woods.  
  
Suddenly, a loud, clear cry filled the valley of the Anduin. Legolas came sprinting into the camp, holding two empty bottles in his hands, his face twisted with agony and rage.  
  
"What's wrong, Legolas my friend?" Aragorn asked.   
  
"My....my...." Legolas whimpered, then burst into fits of tears. "SOMEBODY USED MY SHAMPOO!" The Elf fell to his knees with a wail and threw down the bottles. He stared at them dejectedly. "Why would they do this? How am I going to keep my hair so smooth and silky?" He threw his head back and yelled to the heavens, "WHO WOULD DO SUCH A THING?"  
  
The Company looked at each other, and were silent for a long moment. "Boromir...." they said in unison.  
  
Meanwhile, Boromir came upon Frodo in the woods. He was collecting firewood, and already had a faggot's worth in his arms. His face was sullen and sad, and the Ring was visible, dangling from its chain around his neck.  
  
Boromir approached the hobbit, a smile on his face. "Whatcha got there, Frodo?" he asked.  
  
Frodo stared at Boromir strangely. "Sticks..." he said slowly. "What are you doing out here?"  
  
"Looking for you, of course," Boromir replied, strutting around. "Where's Sam?"  
  
"I don't know..." Frodo said, stooping to pick up another stick. "Shouldn't he be back at the camp?"  
  
Boromir shook his head. "He ran into the woods after you."  
  
Frodo's eyes widened a bit, and he looked down. "He did?" He stroked the Ring on his chain.  
  
"Indeed." Boromir came close to Frodo and stared at the Ring. "You need a little help with that?"  
  
"No," Frodo said quickly, closing his hand around it.  
  
"You sure? Why don't you give it to me for a little while so I can polish it?" He stuck his hand out like a beggar.  
  
"No. I don't trust you." Frodo backed away and dropped his sticks.  
  
"C'mon! Pleeease?" Boromir coaxed, drawing closer to Frodo.  
  
Frodo panicked and made a move to run away, but Boromir was on top of him before he could react. The Man's hands were everwhere, on his chest, his back, his neck, his thighs...  
  
"Whoa! I thought you were after the Ring!" Frodo's grip on the Ring loosened slightly.  
  
"Er, yeah, right. The Ring." Boromir stopped with his hands on Frodo's waist and sat back on his knees. "Can I have it?" He stuck his hand out again.  
  
Frodo's eyes widened and his pupils seemed to grow larger. "You.....You just tried to MOLEST me!" The hobbit cried, scrambling to his feet and turning to run up the hill.   
  
Boromir caught Frodo by the ankle and dragging him back down, giving him a hard slap on his buttocks. "WHOO HOO!" the Man cried. "I'm an ass-slapper!"  
  
It was all too much for Frodo to take. He ignored Gandalf's many warnings about putting the Ring on. He tore it from its chain and slipped it on his finger. Boromir gasped as the hobbit in front of him disappeared. Frodo, now invisible, lept to his feet, kicked Boromir hard in the stomach, and ran away.  
  
"Nobody around here can take a joke, much less have fun..." Boromir pouted, getting back on his feet. He wandered around the woods for a long time, still bored. He reached down and stroked the Horn of Gondor at his side. Then another idea struck him.  
  
"I haven't given this thing a good blow in a long while," he thought as he lifted the horn to his lips. He blew two long, low calls. "It still seems a bit rusty..." He then took a deep breath and began playing freeform jazz. Once he finished, he smiled and tossed the horn up into the air. He caught it and stared at it for a long while. "Never did fail me once!" He turned the horn over in his hands as he walked back to camp. He was almost there, when the sound of many voices and many running feet were heard behind him.  
  
Suddenly, much to the Fellowship's horror, a great throng of Uruk-hai, the White Hand of Saruman on their faces, poured over the hills, heading in the direction of the sound of Boromir's horn. Gimli, Aragorn, Legolas, Merry, and Pippin, who were standing nearby, shot Boromir dirty looks, then fled in different directions, preparing for the attack of the Uruk-hai.  
  
"Boromir! Protect Merry and Pippin, even if you don't find Frodo!" Aragorn yelled over his shoulder as he ran by, unsheathing his sword.  
  
"But I don't wanna!" Boromir whined, stamping his feet.  
  
"You've caused enough trouble today, young Man. Now do as you're told!" Aragorn shot back.  
  
Boromir stared at the tidal wave of Uruk-hai ahead of him.  
  
"Oh crap," he said, pulling out his sword.  
From here, you know how the rest goes.  
And that's the tale of the REAL reason the Fellowship of the Ring broke up: because Boromir was so frikkin annoying.  
NOTE: The translation of Gimli's Dwarvish cursing is: "May darkness fall upon your head! You great dotard!" 


End file.
